


The Bell Jar

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, challenge, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	The Bell Jar

## The Bell Jar

#### by Mikou

Author's website: <http://mikou.popullus.net>  
  
Jim is taken and when he returns, things are very different for him and Blair.  
Written for the TS Ficathons Cliche challenge. Prompts: deathbed confession and touch. Contains the death of a secondary character.  


* * *

I. 

The sirens shield him from the rest of the world. Flashing green and white signs turn to lime blurs. The serpentine twists of the road disappear under his tires. Cars of all shapes and sizes weave around him. But none of it touches Blair. It's all too far away, too far outside the narrow scope of his world. His burning eyes are squarely fixed on the vehicle he's pursuing. 

He keeps his car in its lane and avoids crashing, though he doesn't know how. At times, in brief bursts of enlightenment, he imagines that he can see into the windows of the vehicle before him. And maybe, in those instances, he can see Jim fighting off whatever's been done to him. Maybe catch a glimpse of the blips and beeps of machines and the smooth, hurried movements of the paramedics, all keeping track of Jim's vital functions. 

The ambulance sways and bounces with the bumps and turns of the highway, but the distance between it and Blair's car never changes. They're tethered by an invisible cord, as if Blair's life depends on it. 

In all the important ways, it does. 

When he loses himself in the blinding metallic white of the ambulance's paint job, he wonders if he'll spin out of control, a statistic smeared across the highway divide, while Jim keeps going, going, pulling further and further away, fading like a dying siren until there are only echoes left behind. 

Then the piercing, atonal whine rises and falls again and brings Blair back from the white void of his fear. The sound bounces inside his skull until there's room for nothing else, crowding out the shadowy images that vie for prominence in his stubbornly overactive imagination: Jim sleeping. Silent. Forever. 

The air in the car changes, gets colder. He turns and finds Jim sitting beside him, hands covering his ears while he grimaces. 

_"You wanna get that, Chief, before my ears fall off?"_

_"Nah. I'm tired and it'll just be bad news."_

_Jim rolled his eyes and walked to the phone, but the ringing cut off abruptly before he reached it._

_After a beep and a few clicks, Simon's nasal baritone filled the loft. "Sorry to interrupt you on your day off, Detective. We've got a little situation and we're calling in all hands. If you get this, I need you to call me and come down to the station, ASAP. Oh, and bring the rookie, too."_

_Blair rolled his eyes at that last part and ambled over to the couch where he threw himself down as if he'd never get up again. Never might be overstating it, but 'no time soon' was sounding pretty good. His throbbing feet and nascent headache seemed to agree wholeheartedly. "Told you. So much for the night off."_

_"Far be it for me to point out the obvious, but I didn't actually answer it."_

_"But you were going to. Some people believe that our intentions can change our world--like precognitive karma or something," Blair said with a careless wave of his hand at the invisible forces of the universe._

_Jim picked up his gun holster and shrugged it back on. As he adjusted the straps, he walked towards the couch. "Like many things, you say, I'm going to assume that this is more of that shoot-from-the-hip Sandburg B.S. that I can ignore."_

_"If I weren't so wiped, my feelings might be hurt," Blair said around a jaw-cracking yawn. "You know, there's no way for him to know that we got the message. We could...hey!" Blair cried as Jim snagged his arm and tugged him back into a seated position._

_Jim gently rubbed the nearly invisible finger marks he'd left on Blair's upper arm. "I'm sure you were going to say that we could do our civic duty and haul our asses down to the station." His rubbing slowed, deepened._

_Mollified by the arm massage, Blair leaned back into the sofa and groaned with satisfaction. "Maybe if you do a little more of that--and not just my arm--I might be persuaded to get up from this couch."_

_Instead, Jim slid his hand up into the short curls of Blair's nape, pulled him close, and kissed him softly--more of a tease than a real embrace. He drew back and whispered, "More of that after we get back, but only if you come along nicely."_

_"Damn," Blair whispered back. "I'm seeing advantages in a career in law enforcement that I never considered before. Screw the criminal element. Once we're partners, we could go on stakeouts and just neck all night."_

_Jim cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "I hope you're not doing anything like that with your current partner."_

_Blair snorted. "Not likely. Joel's a great guy and a good mentor, but I don't think I'm his type." He reached up to trace Jim's jaw, letting his fingers drift across the angle of Jim's neck. "With you, on the other hand, I've got everything I..."_

_The phone rang again, cutting off what he'd been about to say._

_"Ellison! Sandburg! This is your Captain, again. If I found out that you two are ignoring this message--"_

He pounds on the brake and feels his seatbelt catch and cut into his chest reminding him that he needs to breathe. The car screeches to a halt, only a few feet from the ambulance's rear. The metal groans and the engine hisses and pops at the abuse, but the car is still in one piece. They're parked in the Emergency Room driveway, where the hospital looms large and ominous over them, looking like a beast ready to swallow them whole. 

* * *

II. 

"...milligrams of Ativan from the pharmacy. I asked them to send it up stat." 

"Got it right here. Need any help?" 

"No, it's all under control. Poor guy's so snowed, he doesn't react to anything." 

"All right. If you need me, I'll be in Room 5, doing an intake." 

Blair watches as the two nurses part. One walks down the hallway and around the corner. He watches the other one--the one who took possession of a large syringe in a clear plastic bag--disappear into Jim's room. Through the glass observation window, he watches her confer with an older woman wearing a long white coat. The doctor takes the syringe and approaches the bed. 

He watches and seethes and hates that he's not in there, _doing_ something. 

Fuck. Why won't anyone listen? He edges his way to the door, but the security guard posted there, gives him a baleful look. They've already gone toe-to-toe, more than once, and the guard, who's built like a brick oven, still has the upper hand. Blair tries reason, though it failed him in their last duel. 

"Look, I promise not to get in their way again. They just don't understand all the ramifications of his medical issues. I have a health proxy--" Which he didn't have time to run home and get before they pumped Jim full of drugs. "If I could just--" 

"You're not coming in until the doc gives the okay." The guard draws up to his full height and steps forward. "Okay?" 

Blair heeds the not so subtle warning and steps back out of striking distance. What he wouldn't do to wield the power of his badge, but Simon had already put the kibosh on that maneuver after the first time. While reading Blair the riot act, Simon had spouted words like "community relations" and "abuse of power" and "calm the hell down, Blair, and let the experts handle it." 

Over the guard's shoulder, Blair can see that it's too late, anyway. The doctor's tossing out the empty syringe into a metal bin bolted to the wall while she scans the medical equipment decorating the shelf above Jim's head. The monitor displays are steady and Jim seems the same--as silent and still as he's been for the past few days. Nothing's changed. 

Blair is relieved and disappointed, all at once. The rush of adrenaline-induced alertness fades, leaving him feeling a little spacey. On wobbly legs, he shuffles back to the observation window and presses his brow against the glass, willing Jim to open his eyes... 

_But Jim was crouched in a corner of the room, eyes scrunched up tight. Hands over his ears. Screaming._

_The absence of sound only made it worse._

_The image disappeared with a click and a flash of static against Blair's hand. He glared up at Simon. "I was watching that!"_

_"Sandburg, you've seen it over a dozen times. We've already determined that there's nothing on that tape that's going to tell us where Jim is. We need to concentrate on that witness."_

_Blair turned to stare at the blank screen. Off. On. Didn't matter. Every moment of the five minute scene was etched into his memory where it could never be erased. Blank white walls, ceiling, and floor. Flickering blue-white fluorescent light, recessed into the ceiling. A small hole throwing spinning, grey shadows. An air vent, he finally realized._

_During the first minute of the tape, Jim stood by the vent, inhaling like a man who'd been deprived of oxygen, but then his face changed--turned red and then he darted to the opposite side of the cell, almost out of range of the camera, coughing and sputtering._

_A minute later, he clamped his hands over his ears and started screaming._

Blair peers into the hospital room, on high alert for the slightest hint of movement, but Jim's silent pose is unchanged. The faint ache in Blair's hip from leaning against the sill and the coolness of the glass under his fingertips keep him grounded when everything else feels like it's slipping into an inky abyss. 

* * *

**III.**

The door to the Radiology room remains firmly shut. They're in there, working their medical hocus pocus to figure out what's wrong with Jim. Blair has no real objections to their attempts, but each passing day without results, cements his doubts that they'll find anything they can repair. No brain damage. No chemical imbalance. No unexpected tumor. Unless a sentinel brain looks different, somehow? Maybe in a way that could be fixed so Jim would wake up? 

He latches onto that theory for a minute, until he remembers that Jim was scanned a few years back, right before they'd first met. The doctors hadn't found anything then, either. 

When his eyes start watering from staring a hole into the "Do Not Enter. Room in Use." sign on the door, Blair's attention wanders to the unit secretary. The soft, rhythmic clicking of her computer keyboard lulls him into a semi-trance. It's almost six. If Jim were okay, they'd probably be at work right now, camped on opposite sides of the bullpen, but making excuses to catch the other's eye or make the journey across the room for a smile or a few words. Not that Blair got do that too often. The rookies always got the scut work, so he'd probably be wrapping it up for the day, making those last phone calls or at his computer. 

_Only fifteen minutes and then this shift was over, thank goodness. In between quick glances to the clock on the wall, h added his final words, skimmed the report, hit 'print' and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction._

_"Blair, you done yet?" Henri Brown called across the room in a harried voice._

_"Stick a fork in me," Blair replied. He snatched the freshly printed report out of the printer tray and walked it across the room. "If I have to placate one more 'concerned citizen of Cascade' I may not be responsible for my actions."_

_Henri grinned and took the paper Blair offered to add it to the stack on his desk. "Where's that Man of the People we used to know and love?"_

_"He's long gone, brother. Saving the world from packets of cornstarch, just doesn't do it for me."_

_"You know, it actually could have been some deadly substance."_

_"But it wasn't, which makes this whole day a monumental waste of time. Hate to say it, but I almost wish there had been some real crime to fight, today."_

_"I hear you," Henri said with a nod. "Jim and I are gonna be swamped tomorrow because we spent so much time on this crap, today."_

_"The O'Malley case?"_

_"Yup. Might even have to pull a couple of late nights to get the D.A.'s office to stop breathing down our necks. Can't wait 'til it's over. I've been missing the play-offs."_

_"You ever heard of a little invention they call a VCR, Brown? Wave of the future."_

_As Henri started pontificating about the disadvantages of watching the game on replay, some movement across the room caught Blair's attention. Jim was coming out of Simon's office, looking like someone had keyed his truck's shiny paint job._

_Blair jogged across the room to catch up to Jim. Before he has time to consider whether he's sounding naggy or overworried, he asks, "Everything okay?"_

_Jim looked down at him, the irritation on his face transforming into a small smile. It's a sight that never fails to make Blair catch his breath._

_"No biggie. Seems that one of the witnesses is housebound and Simon wants me to go over there and take her statement. As luck would have it, she lives out in the boondocks, so I'll be late tonight."_

_Blair exhaled with relief that it was nothing more serious. He figured that one of these days, he was going to stop imagining the worst--maybe when he and Jim were partnered again and he didn't have to wonder. "But there's no real threat. This is probably some idiot's idea of a practical joke."_

_Jim nodded. "Probably, but joke or not, the city's up in arms about bioterrorism. If we don't take all the threats seriously and one of them happens to be real, the mayor's gonna have our heads."_

_"Yeah, I know. It's just that I was looking forward to tonight." It had been a week since either of them was home at the same time. "I was thinking we could order Indian food tonight. It's too late to cook, but I'm ravenous." His stomach grumbles to solidify the last point._

_An unreadable look crossed Jim's face before his eyes lifted to quickly scan the bullpen. He looked down at Blair, again, and patted him on the shoulder, the touch lingering just long enough for Blair to feel a tingle down his arm, but short enough that it wouldn't raise any eyebrows._

_Blair smiled at the thought of Jim's eventual homecoming and what they might do when they had some privacy. "The landlord fixed the drain, so I was going to soak in the tub for a while." He stepped back and stretched, listening to the satisfying pop of his back and hoping Jim was imagining him naked and soapy._

_"Sandburg!" Jim said with a strangled whisper._

_Blair lowered his arms and looked at Jim with what he hoped was wide-eyed innocence. "Yes?"_

_Jim scowled, but his lips twitched with suppressed humor. "I'll get you back for that. If I zone out while I'm talking to this woman, you'll have yourself to blame when they lock me in a padded cell."_

_Blair grinned and apologized and made a whispered promise to make it up to Jim. The door opened behind Jim._

_"Sandburg! Ellison! The city doesn't pay you to socialize," Simon barked. "As long as you haven't punched out, feel free to earn your paycheck."_

_"Yes, sir," Blair replied with a jaunty salute behind the captain's retreating back, before leaving Jim and heading back to his desk. The clock told him that he had five minutes to go. He made himself busy while he waited for the time to pass. With any luck, Jim's interview wouldn't take long and they'd have a long night to make up for lost time._

"All done. Sorry you had to wait so long." 

Blair looks up at the Radiology technician. "That's okay. Any problems?" 

"We had a little excitement when the MRI machine started. It's pretty noisy and they told me he sometimes reacts to sounds." 

"Yeah. Sometimes." Blair wants to tell this man what a wonder Jim can be, how he can hear a pin drop from yards away. Then he has to swallow the bilious anger that rises in his throat because if Jim didn't have these senses, he'd probably be awake by now. 

Despite the nuisances and Jim's misgivings, he'd always thought of those senses as a blessing. How could he have been such a fool? 

* * *

IV. 

Blair pushes away the hand hovering near his face. "I'm fine." A powdery substance spills from a vial and dusts his hands and his pants leg. 

"You're not fine," the nurse insists, while recapping the vial. 

She's one of the nicer ones, a motherly type who never gives him the bum's rush when the end of visiting hours is announced. In all other ways, she can be pushy as all get out. 

"You passed out." 

"I was just a little dizzy." 

"No. You passed out. I've got enough people relying on me who aren't _making_ themselves sick. You can't keep doing this to yourself." 

"Doing what? I was just sitting here." 

She scowls at him and shakes her head, probably itching to box his ears or dole out some other form of corporeal punishment. In a way, it comforts him. 

"In cases like this, I'm supposed to encourage you to get checked out in our ER, but you're not going to listen, are you?" 

He shakes his head no. 

"When did you last eat?" 

It takes him right back to his early years when Naomi would scold him for not coming in for his afternoon snack. He pauses and offers a quick moment of silence for the times when that was the worst part of his day. "I ate." 

"When?" 

He has to think about it. Then, when he remembers, he has to fudge the truth. "Before I came tonight." He doesn't mention that 'before' adds up to sixteen hours ago when he'd grabbed a slice of dry toast and a stale cup of coffee before rushing to the police station for his shift. 

She looks skeptical, but doesn't bother debating. "I can have someone get you a sandwich and some juice." 

If they gave prizes for assuming one was right and proceeding accordingly, this nurse might give Naomi some real competition. 

"We have extra from dinner. I can probably get you some jello for dessert." 

He agrees and breathes a sigh of relief when she leaves the room. She has a point because living on toast and coffee isn't quite agreeing with him. It's just that he forgets, sometimes. And when he remembers, nothing tastes the same. He wishes he could take his own advice and adjust his senses until everything was back where it should be. Maybe Jim has rubbed off on him a little more than he thought. Sentinelization by osmosis? 

Blair leans his head back against the chair and watches Jim, devising experiments to examine his theory. "See that, babe? You don't wake up and I'll have a million tests to keep you occupied. Better open your eyes soon or we'll be doing that from now until you start growing your hair back." He waits for Jim's eye roll or snort at the tired jab. 

Of course, nothing happens. 

Something hot trickles down his cheek and he reaches up to rub it away. The remnants of the smelling salts on his fingertips singe his nasal passages and make his eyes water even more. 

_He pulled his sleeve over his face to block out the smell. The room was reeking of it, so thick and acrid it was a wonder he could even breathe. He looked around and found it empty...except for the figure crumpled in the corner. Blair called over his shoulder for the paramedics, as he practically stumbled over his own feet to reach Jim. He shouts again for help, choking every time he takes a breath._

A feather-light touch on his shoulder chases the past away. "Here you go." 

He looks up to find the nurse has returned with a tray. He accepts it and places it on his lap. It holds a small bowl of some questionable looking chicken soup. He sniffs, but can't banish the scent of memory. 

* * *

V. 

"You can't seriously expect me to agree to that, Steven." 

"The doctors say it's safe." 

"Maybe for a regular person, but Jim doesn't always respond to things the way you might expect." 

_Jim didn't rouse to the shake of his shoulder or Blair's shouts. His face was pale, except for the blotchy red of his cheeks. His breath came in short, harsh pants through lips that were dry and cracked. One hand draped loosely over his ear, the fingertips strangely darkened. The other hand trailed on the floor, as if he didn't have the strength to lift it. Those fingers were also darkened with what looked like soot, at first._

_Blair leaned in a little closer. Underneath the darkness, there were tiny blisters and open spots on Jim's fingers. A glance around to see what might have caused the damage, revealed only a small, metal sink, protruding from the wall, just like the ones you might find in any prison cell._

_Strangely, there was a tangle of wires dangling under the sink. Blair frowned and looked back at Jim's hand...at the wounds that looked like electrical burns. He heard footsteps._

_One of the other officers on the scene, a rookie who had been in Blair's class at the Police Academy, was reaching for the sink._

_Before Blair could scream out of his warning, he was blinded by arcs of light, shooting out from the sink, the sizzling smell of electricity, and the rookie's screams of pain..._

"No." 

Steven Ellison runs a hand through his hair, grits his jaw, and takes a breath that just screams with impatience. Blair wonders if physical mannerisms are genetic. 

"You have no right..." 

"I have the rights that Jim gave me. You saw the health proxy--" 

"I don't give a crap about some piece of paper. This is my BROTHER we're talking about! If the doctors say this will help--" 

"The doctors don't understand everything! They don't know about his...abilities...and how some things affect him differently. They practically sent him into a coma with one of those sedatives, like Jim really needs sedation--" 

"Even if he's really all the things you say, he's still a human being. Besides, you weren't here that day, Blair. You didn't see how agitated he got. " 

He swallows the accusation like the bitter pill it is. After he ran through his leave, he grudgingly returned to the P.D. His heavy workload takes him away from Jim's side for far too long, but it's either that or lose his job, the only thing he has that hasn't fallen apart. "If they were more careful--" 

"Careful of what? Sometimes it's like he's gone, completely gone and sometimes we can't go near him because he's screaming in agony! He can't stay like this forever!" 

"He won't." 

"And you know this how?" 

Blair whispers too low for anyone to hear. "Because he has to come back. I need him back." In a normal tone of voice, he adds, "I can't give them permission to shock him. Not if it means he might be permanently damaged. Not after what was already done to him." 

He turns to Jim's bed, slides his chair a little closer, and picks up Jim's hand. It's the only touch Jim will allow when he's not sedated. The electrical burns are fading, but Blair can still feel the faint rise of the scarred tissue where the jolts seared Jim's flesh. Time has to do its trick. The alternatives are unthinkable. 

* * *

VI. 

Anger, concern, desperation--Blair can practically taste the melting pot of emotion. 

The hospital social worker's chignon is in disarray. Where she had a professional smile, there are now pinched, pale lips and a furrow in her brow. She's no newcomer to her field, but maybe she's never come across this particular brand of male stubbornness. And Blair has to admit to himself that he's being just as obstinate as Jim's father. 

"He should be with us!" William punctuates this statement with a thump of his fist on the conference table. "We're his family, damn it, and we have the resources..." 

Blair jumps in. It's not the first time the senior Ellison has tried to wield his wallet like a sword. "I can handle things just fine! The department is going to cover most of his expenses and Jim had an account set aside for emergencies. I already contacted Social Services and we can get more--" 

"You wouldn't have to jump through those hoops if you let him go where he belongs. Use your head, boy!" 

"Bill," and Blair hides a smile of triumph when William winces at the reciprocal familiarity, "if you want to help, I won't turn it down, but I'm not going against Jim's wishes." 

"I doubt he foresaw these exact circumstances. Let's talk about what you're up against, why don't we?" 

"I've already been through this--" 

"Well, then humor an old man before you take his child away." 

Blair's mouth snaps shut. God, this is not supposed to be happening. This conversation shouldn't be necessary. Jim should be sitting by his side. Instead, he and William Ellison are sitting in this room, facing off like combatants, with the prize being Jim's fate. 

Blair closes his eyes and drops his face into the hands, shutting it all out except William's recitation of the _facts_ : medications, special beds and bathing equipment. Doctors, nurses, therapists. And let's not forget that he will have to return to work, leaving Jim in the hands of strangers, most of the time. The dark litany goes on and on until Blair loses all sense of the words, only holding on to the voice itself, buzzing in his ears. He never noticed, before, how much William and Jim sound alike. If he ignores the words, that voice is almost a consolation. 

_"Listen to me, Sandburg. Are you paying attention?"_

_"Yes, damn it, Captain. I heard every word you had to say. Do you think you can give me a minute to process it?"_

_Process? What a laugh. He can't even begin to comprehend the basic concepts. "Why didn't Jim take Henri with him? Or a uniform?" Or himself. Why hadn't he gone with Jim? Instead, he'd been soaking in some stupid, fucking bathtub while Jim disappeared._

_"Does she know anything at all?"_

_Simon shook his head. "Just that Alex Barnes is her daughter. She didn't even know that Alex had escaped. You'd think the psych hospital would have notified her."_

*Blair grimaced and clenched his fists. He felt so fucking _useless._ "I didn't even know she had any living relatives." He remembered the look on Alex's face when he'd asked about her family history. When she'd said 'orphan' and 'foster care' that look had been so convincing--buried pain, loneliness, no cunning at all. It never occurred to him that she was selling him a load of crap, not even after he'd discovered the extent of her lies.* 

_She'd held to a gun to his head and drowned him, but he could still feel betrayed by her fairytales._

_He watched through the interview room's one-way window. Joel's back was to him, leaving the woman facing the observation room. Those deep blue eyes gave Blair a chill. Despite the wrinkles and the white hair, the resemblance was obvious. She looked up and seemed to be staring straight at him. Blair knew they couldn't be seen, but he still turned away._

_Simon was standing behind him, his jaw so tight, Blair could hear teeth grinding. The only other betrayal of his worry was he cigar spinning over and around his fingers, over and over again, always looking like it would fall, but catching itself and swinging on a fulcrum to the next finger. He stared at Simon's hands and saw Jim's hands, instead, saw them holding him while he worked through the shakes. Then he imagined them pummeling Alex and he felt queasy that he could think such a thing, even about her. He looked around for a chair because he suddenly felt like he couldn't take a deep breath without screaming. The sharp feel of wood biting the back of his thighs was a relief._

_"We've got to get you to safety," Simon was saying._

_Blair whipped his head up to gape at the captain. "You can't lock me out of this! I'm on the case until we find Jim!"_

_"Absolutely not. The woman tried to kill you!"_

_"Did kill, remember?" The breath that had been stuck in his chest exploded out in a harsh laugh. "Maybe she came back to do the job right, eh?" He jumped a little when Simon squatted in front of him and grabbed his wrists in a punishing grip._

_"Sandburg, this is no time for jokes. If she would threaten her own mother..."_

_"And where has this mother been? When Alex was hospitalized? When she woke up? During the freaking trial? How do we know she's not in on this?"_

_"Joel is getting all the details, but we have no evidence of contact between them for the past years. Believe me, if she has anything to do with it, we'll find out. And we're keeping an eye on her house and phone lines, in case Alex contacts her."_

_"Jim's not just one of my men. He's a good friend. I'll get him back. I won't let her get away with this."_

_Though Blair wanted to insist that Simon didn't need to take all the responsibility onto his shoulders, he held silent and let the promises soothe him. He knew, better than anyone, that the resolve in Simon's voice was not bravado. Simon would keep his promise, even if it meant getting in the trenches, at risk to himself. That selflessness was one of the things he'd always liked about the gruff captain and a quality that Jim and Simon had in common._

"I understand that this might...hurt you," said William, though it was as grudging an admission as Blair had ever heard. "But you could visit any time. He'd be safer with me. In the end, isn't that the most important thing?" 

Blair felt his heart break a little because he couldn't disagree. 

* * *

**VII.**

Blair's footsteps echo against the polished hardwood floors. The bed is empty, as he expected. Sometimes he wonders why he still comes up here. He doesn't think he can bring himself to sell the loft, but he should do something with this room. Maybe get rid of the bed or, at least, move the furniture around so he doesn't feel like he's maintaining a shrine. 

_Jim would probably think I'm acting like a maudlin fool,_ he thinks. Jim would be right. 

_Beyond the doors, Blair could hear muffled footsteps, the murmur of voices, and the scrape of wheeled carts across the hallway floor. But in this room, the hush of imminent death hung heavy in the air._

_He squeezed his fingers a little tighter, feeling the cool clamminess of the hand in his._

_"Are you still there?" he asked before waiting for a flutter of eyelashes, a nod of the head, or any sign that his words hadn't gone unnoticed._

_There. Those blue eyes hadn't changed from all the times he remembered them, even framed by dark circles and pallid flesh._

_"Can you still talk?"_

_He wasn't surprised by the lack of response, just disappointed beyond belief. The doctors had told him to expect this. Blair had listened and cataloged all their advice, had absorbed their warnings about the futility of his hopes, but still forced himself to sit here and bear witness, when this was the last place he wanted to be. In the end, there was nowhere else he could be._

_"I just need you to tell me. Tell me the truth."_

_Still no response, except maybe a quick, extra breath. Then he remembered that the doctor had said this might happen at the end. A chill crept down his spine at the thought that his wait might be over._

_He looked around the room, surprised to find himself alone. It seemed that just a few minutes ago, the others had been here: the doctor, the nurse, the hospital chaplain. Then he turned a bit more and saw Simon standing across the room, leaning against the wall, his face downturned. That didn't surprise Blair. Simon would never have left him alone at a time like this. He would also stand as a witness and later they could glean whatever they could from these last moments._

_The bed sheets rustled and Blair looked back at the bed, awash with fear and anticipation. He held his breath until it burned in his chest and waited--waited for a word, a look, anything that would get rid of this god-awful feeling that his world was ending._

_He stood and leaned over the bed, as close as he could get, and whispered, "What is it?"_

_Warm, stale breath puffed across his cheek and he heard the words he'd feared he would never hear. His heart was fluttering in his chest and he could hardly breathe, but he chanted those precious words, lest he forget them. He fell back into his chair with a hard thump and muttered the words under his breath like a talismanic meditation._

_One thing they didn't warn him about was how death could fool you. How it could seem like the person was just sleeping when, really, they were gone for good. He leaned back, expecting...actually, not knowing what he expected, but expecting something._

_A warm weight fell on his shoulder and he resisted the urge to shake it off. People thought it helped, but sometimes it made everything worse, made it impossible to drift away from reality. He looked up at Simon. If only the hand had been Jim's, followed by a pat on the cheek or maybe that secret twinkle in Jim's eye when he thought no one was looking. Blair fantasized that Jim had played some masterful joke on them all and he was be laughing at how well he'd hoodwinked them into thinking he was gone._

_Of course, it was none of that._

_Simon's voice filtered through Blair's fog. "Did she say anything? Did she give us a clue? I've got a team ready to go if she did."_

_Blair thought he'd be shouting the words, that he'd be the first one running out of Alex's room, to find Jim. But her last words left him with fear that kept him frozen and mute. What if she'd lied? What if it was too late to find Jim? What if the bullet that killed her, took Jim along with it?_

_"Blair, if you know something, tell me so we can go. Blair, we have to go!"_

"Blair? We have to go." 

He turns and sees Steven standing on the steps. He exits the bedroom quickly, to forestall Jim's brother from coming up here. It's the antithesis of all his philosophical babbling about letting go and moving on, but he needs to keep this space just for the two of them, even if Jim will never know. 

"My car's out front. Got everything you need?" 

He nods, grabs his bag, and follows Steven out of the loft and down to the street. The drive to the Ellison house passes before he even knows it, as does William Ellison's greeting and their long walk up the stairs and down the hallway. 

He stands in another doorway, in another bedroom, far from where he wants to be. Except that this room isn't empty like the other. Has it only been a few days since he'd been here? He thinks hard and realizes, to his shame, that it's been nearly two weeks. Fourteen days and it feels like everything has changed. Then again, it feels like that, even when it's been only two days. He doesn't know what Steven and William must thing about this ritual he has developed, but he doesn't care as long as they let him do it. 

Leaning against the door jamb, he closes his eyes and inhales, but all he can smell is lemony furniture polish and disinfectant. He'll have to remind them, again, about using the organic stuff. He opens his eyes and makes himself look at the thin, still figure in the bed who bears little resemblance to the strong, vital man that Jim had always been. He would give anything to hear Jim's throaty chuckle, or his groan when they touched, or even his frightening snore when he'd had one beer too many and fallen asleep on the couch. 

Blair drops his bag and walks to the bedside. He sits on the pricey hospital bed that still has squeaky bedsprings, places both hands on the pillow, on either side of Jim's head and kisses him. The smooth feel of Jim's brow, the slight saltiness of his cheek, the softness of his lips--they have changed, but not as much as all the rest. Only after this touch can Blair bring his hands to Jim's face. Nothing seems real until then. 

He hears the floor creak behind him. 

"We have an audience," he whispers to Jim. "We better make it good." 

_Blair swatted Jim's hand away and stood on tiptoes to peer over Jim's shoulder. "I changed my mind. Maybe we should wait until we get home. What if someone sees us?"_

*Jim raised an eyebrow. "Is this _my_ Blair Sandburg? Acting shy? Will wonders never cease?"* 

_Blair laughed and punched at Jim's belly. "Okay, okay. You've found out my secret, the bones rattling in my skeleton, my Achilles heel."_

_"Your kryptonite. Shyness."_

_"I wouldn't take it that far. And it won't kill me, after all."_

_"Never heard of dying of embarrassment, Professor?"_

*"Well if I die of embarrassment from being caught necking with you, it might not be such a bad way to go. I just didn't think that _you'd_ be into public displays of affection."* 

_Jim looked around the parking lot. "Public? What public? I could probably strip naked and no one would notice."_

_Blair felt his face heat up at that bit of mental imagery. Then he felt the gentle brush of Jim's fingertips against his cheek._

_"My, my. Blushing?"_

_Blair turned his face and caught one of Jim's fingers between his teeth, nipping it a little, before letting go. "You're deliberately trying to provoke me."_

_"And, from what I can tell, I'm succeeding beyond my wildest imagination."_

_"Oh, just kiss me before someone comes along to gawk."_

_Jim cast a glance heavenwards and sighed. "Finally, the man talks some sense. I knew all that schooling wouldn't go to waste."_

_Blair might have punished Jim by changing his mind about the kiss, if it wouldn't mean punishing himself._

"He senses you." 

Blair wonders why he didn't notice William's entrance into the room. So much for those finely honed protective skills he'd learned at the police academy. "What?" 

William faces his son, his pale eyes hazy and unfocused behind his thick bifocals. "I think he knows when you're here. His breathing is a little different and he sleeps better on the days you visit. He hasn't been having as many of those outbursts, either." 

Blair stares at Jim, looking for this difference. Maybe it's real or maybe it's the wishful thinking of a grieving father. He picks up one of Jim's hand and immediately is flooded with the memories of sitting at another bedside, watching someone else breathe. He had to take several deep breaths before his mind stops conflating that time with this. Then he reaches with his other hand and touches Jim's cheek. 

It takes awhile before he sees it. He might have missed it if he hadn't been looking. It's just a jerk of Jim's eyes beneath closed eyelids and a deep breath. Then a small motion of his lips, as if he's about to whisper something. 

He presses his cheek against Jim's, so he can listen and so he can whisper back the secrets that belong only between them. He still feels Jim waking, in infinitesimally small steps. 

Even if it takes forever, he'll wait as long as it takes. 

* * *

End The Bell Jar by Mikou: mikou71@gmail.com  
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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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